


I Have a Rendez-vous with Death

by bamfbugboy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Western, Dad Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Family Feels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Half-Chicano Jesse, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Petals on the River universe, Poetry, Post-World War I, also counts as a veteran's day piece, dia de los muertos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 09:36:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8440600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamfbugboy/pseuds/bamfbugboy
Summary: Jesse McCree revisits the memory of his dead brother, who died in the war, on the first of November.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Petals on the River](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7394560) by [bamfbugboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamfbugboy/pseuds/bamfbugboy), [Zath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zath/pseuds/Zath). 



> This story takes place in the [_Petals on the River_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7394560/chapters/16796266) universe. This story can stand alone, but it does make reference to some of the themes/characters/references mentioned in that story. If you do happen to read this story in the context of Petals, it takes place _BEFORE_ the events of that story. 
> 
> The title of this piece references the poem by Alan Seeger entitled [_I Have a Rendezvous with Death_](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/45077). The poem featured in this piece is [_In Flanders Field_](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/47380) by John McCrae written during the war.

Candles rest across the alter, their flames flickering in the night. Jesse McCree stands before the makeshift shrine, his heart weary, heavy like a stone as it aches in his chest. The shadows play on the colorful flowers framing the display, their large petals the colors of sunset hues. The small statue of Mary, the holy virgin, bows her head in prayer as she tends to her flock with solemn grace. Incense fills his lungs, the heady smoke taking him to a far off place. 

He closes his eyes and thinks of the continent across the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean where life and death were not celebrated, but intimately joined as one. 

_In Flanders fields the poppies blow_  
_Between the crosses, row on row,_  
_That mark our place; and in the sky_  
_The larks, still bravely singing, fly_  
_Scarce heard amid the guns below..._

Jesse places the creased picture beside her holiness and takes off his hat. In the photograph, James McCree, his older brother, stands beside him on their family's farm. He was a brother who laughed and smiled and loved. He was a man so unafraid of what lay before him, so ready to embrace life and go wherever it took him, even into the jaws of Death. With hair as dark as a raven's feather, with golden skin tanned by the sun, and with eyes the color of tilled soil, he was an inspiration. Handsome, brilliant, clever, James McCree emulated the very best that a man could be if he worked his hardest every day. Their parents always held James in the highest esteem. He was everything Jesse McCree aspired to become when he grew up. He volunteered to fight for his country, even, and he was the bravest man Jesse ever knew. 

_We are the Dead. Short days ago_  
_We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,_  
_Loved and were loved, and now we lie,_  
_In Flanders fields._

Nothing but bitterness remains. Jesse doesn't blame his brother for his spirit. Instead, the shame falls onto his own shoulders. If only he had been older. If only he had lied on the forms he had submitted to the local recruitment office of the US Army. If only he had been there to save his brother from a lonely end. 

Taken too soon from this world, left to die in a muddied, rotten trench, his lungs bloated from poisoned air. Abandoned by his fellow soldiers, his brothers in arms. Why didn't someone go back for him? Why did James have to die for a war their country should have never fought in? 

_Did you think of me when you died?_

James never saw his fair share. Life left him too soon. Survived by a lesser brother. Two parents left to mourn, haunted by the ghost of their son. 

He clenches his fists and grinds his teeth. _I should have been there, I should have been there, if only I had been there, I would have... It doesn't matter._ The what if's, the why's. None of it matters. _The ones we love are always taken too soon._

A firm hand touches his shoulder, and Jesse recoils, his body jerking to see who has stirred him from his morose thoughts. 

"So I see you found the alter."

Gabriel Reyes. Rancher. Husband to the town sheriff. A veteran.

Jesse takes a shaky breath. His hand comes up to his eyes, wiping away the shameful tears. He barely knows this man. 

"You don't need to be strong for me, kid. I've seen it all. It's okay to let it out." 

Jesse groans. He shrugs off the offending hand. He doesn't need anyone to coddle him. 

Gabriel doesn't give up so easily. "Hey. Stop. _Listen._ Take a deep breath." 

Jesse closes his eyes tight. Instead of seeing black emptiness behind his eyelids, he sees his brother standing before him, a hand extended. Smiling, carefree. He takes that deep breath. 

"It's alright for a man to cry. I know it hurts. Better to let it out than to let it fester." 

He knows these words well. James said similar ones when he was just a boy, sobbing over their dog’s grave. 

"Is that your older brother?" 

Jesse sighs. He makes the slightest movement, and Gabriel's hand holds his shoulder tighter. 

"He's a fine looking man." 

Jesse gives up. "He looks more like our mother," he utters in defeat. 

"Where's she from?" 

"She grew up in California. Her father was a vaquero. Owns a ranch now with my dad. He's from back east. Scottish." 

"What's your brother's name?" 

"James." Jesse's heart sinks. "James McCree. He... he died in France at the Marne." 

Gabriel relaxes his grip on Jesse's shoulder. 

"What happened to him?" 

"I don't know for sure. Friend said he died to the gas." 

Gabriel doesn’t say anything at first. The silence hangs between them, the tension in the air almost tangible. 

"I'm…” Gabriel exhales. “I’m sorry to hear that. I fought over there with Jack. I know how deadly that stuff is," he says quietly. "You want me to say a prayer with you?" 

Jesse inhales sharply. He looks over his shoulder to meet the gaze of the other, older man. He looks to be the same age as James. He smiles at him, soft, warm, caring. Jesse barely knows this man, but he feels safe. He's experienced nothing but kindness from Gabriel and his husband Jack. 

"Dia de los Muertos is meant to be celebrated with family and friends. You shouldn't be alone."

Gabriel fishes into his pocket and reveals a worn, faded photograph. He places it upon the altar next to Jesse’s picture. Jesse sees in the candlelight the picture of a large, happy, picturesque family.

"I know what it's like to lose loved ones too soon. I lost my dad when I was young. Tore me to pieces." Gabriel pauses. "But every year, my mother, my grandmother, my sisters...we all came together and we prayed for him, celebrated his memory. We ate his favorite meals. We laughed. We cried. It felt good. All this... it won't take away the pain... but I think catharsis might help." 

Gabriel bows his head, and after hesitating, Jesse does the same. They close their eyes, and Gabriel begins to pray in Spanish for his brother's soul. 

When he finishes, he encourages Jesse to say a few words as well. 

"Te echo de menas, James," he says, his voice breaking. His fingers grip the rim of his hat tightly. Gabriel wraps his arm fully around his shoulder. "Te amo, hermano."

For the first time in years, since receiving word of James's death, he feels relief despite the wet tears pouring down his face. He no longer feels so alone in the world. The cosmic weight of carrying around the dead lifts, and Jesse breathes easier. 

_Take up our quarrel with the foe:_  
_To you from failing hands we throw_  
_The torch; be yours to hold it high._  
_If ye break faith with us who die_  
_We shall not sleep, though poppies grow_  
_In Flanders fields._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think! 
> 
> If you have questions/comments/concerns, you can message me on [tumblr. ](http://bamfbugboy.tumble.com)


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